


The Sixth Man

by moosesal



Category: The Absolutist - John Boyne
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 08:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13050144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moosesal/pseuds/moosesal
Summary: Will's perspective over the years and over his months knowing Tristan.





	The Sixth Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [savetomorrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/savetomorrow/gifts).



I.

James. Three or four years older than me. Beautiful. Golden hair that always looked like he’d just pulled off a knit cap, but was still somehow perfect. Bright, smiling eyes. A perpetual flush to his cheeks like he’d just ducked inside on a brisk day.

I sat in church staring at him in the choir, shifting in my seat. Fidgeting. Excited. Worried. Nauseated. Uncertain. Joyful.

There was never more than a look. He never even really looked back except in my dreams. His face seared to the inside of my eyelids as I woke sticky, panting, terrified.

 

* * *

 

_Dearest Marian,_

_We arrived today at Aldershot. There was excitement on the train. Everyone unsure what awaited us. I have to say, it’s not been exactly as expected…_  
_There are twenty of us. I hope one proves to be interesting as I long for conversation that matters.  
_ _Left and Right are awful. Clayton’s not much better..._

 

 

II.

 

Victor. My dear friend. Behind the rectory. Father droned on and on inside, practicing for Sunday. Repeating himself as he worked out his homily.

We lay in the grass staring at the clouds. His left hand just touching my right. Fingers brushing then pulling back. I turned my head and looked at him. Sharp nose. Soft pouty lips.

I grasped his hand, squeezed. He turned and met my gaze. Wide eyed. I darted forward and kissed him. Quick. Light. Not even sure I actually touched his lips. Then he rolled away from me and ran. The next day in school he said nothing, talked only to the other boys.

I caught him looking my way once. He flushed before averting his eyes. We were friends no more.

 

* * *

  

_Dearest Marian,_

_I’m trying to make friends, but the prospect of war is daunting. We have no uniforms yet and that assures me that I’ve got time. But the front looms in my mind…_

 

 

III.

 

A stranger. A public toilet in Chapelfield Gardens. He could have been my grandfather. He stared at me as I relieved myself at the urinal and I felt blood fill my cheeks. I finished my business and fled as quickly as possible.

That night I lay in bed thinking about going back. Not for him. But maybe someone else. Someone more like me. But surely there was no one like me. Just perverted old men in toilets. Would that be me one day?

 

* * *

 

_Dearest Marian,_

_… I’ve got a Londoner on the bunk next to mine. He’s a good bloke. He’s always there when I need someone to talk to. I miss home and I think he must as well. He doesn’t talk about home, but I can see something in his silence…_

  


IV.

 

I dared not ask his name. Chapelfield Gardens. Back by my own choosing.

Looking at a young man. Lean and strong. Long fingers wrapped around himself. Nervous. Glancing over at me. Sidling over. I moved too, two steps to my right. Our elbows brushed. I looked at him, at his hands, at his cock. Up at his face then quickly down again. Then up when I realized he was looking at me. I turned my body. He grabbed my jumper and pulled me to him as he backed into a stall.

Not love. Revelation.

 

* * *

 

_Dearest Marian,_

_… Wolf is an interesting chap. He’s a conscientious objector. He isn’t going to fight, but he knows more about guns than any of us. I’m not sure how I feel about him. The other boys think him a coward. A featherman. But his thoughts are sound. I’ve talked to him a few times and hope to learn more…_

_Tristan thinks…_  
_Tristan…_  
_He…  
_ _Tristan and I..._

 

V.

 

Tristan. Sadler. The woods at Aldershot. A disarming young man who intrigued me so. I hadn’t meant to reach for him, to kiss him, to press him back, soft earth beneath us. I knew he was like me. But I wasn’t sure he wouldn’t run. Tell. Get us both court-martialed.

He didn’t. He sighed against my mouth and eased back. Pliable. Open. Wanting.

Sweet and lovely and willing.

My name whispered from his lips. Soft and delicate while hard and taking. Fervent.

The same angelic expression on his face I’d see in the night while he slept beside me.

Love? Perhaps.

Something? Certainly.

 

* * *

 

_Dearest Marian,_

_… Wolf is dead. We’ve been told it was an accident. But I know differently. He was murdered. Now I must go to the front with the man (or men) who killed him just as I have more questions for him about war and politics and what is right._

_Tristan and I …_  
_and then we…_  
_You’d like Tristan…  
_ _Tristan is..._

 

VI.

 

Tristan Sadler. Amazing Tristan. Surviving the trenches. There for me even on the front lines. Always mine. Giving of himself when we both were barely holding on. And then the German boy. And Tristan in the infirmary. And memories of Wolf. I’m lost and the only thing I can do is say no.

I won’t fight. I want to love. But I cannot love. I cannot let Tristan know because it will be too much. Everyone will know how I feel. Everyone will know what we’ve done. He will suffer. He will die. I cannot do that to him.

_“I don’t love you, Tristan. I don’t even like you very much any more. You were there, that’s all it was. You were there.”_

You were everything. Everywhere. 

_“My God! When I think of what we’ve done together it makes me sick. Do you realize that? It makes me want to retch.”_

My heart breaks as I say the words. The pain on his face. But I cannot stop.  
Listen, Tristan. Listen to your heart. Hear me in your memories -- you’re the only thing that brought me joy.

_“Listen to me. And remember what I tell you: I am not like you. I wish to fuck I had never met you. Wolf told me all aout you, told me what you were, and I stayed your friend out of pity. Because I knew that no one else would be your friend. I despise you, Tristan.”_

I’m not like you. I’m afraid.  
I’m so grateful I met you. That I could be your friend.  
That I could be more for you as you were for me.  
I don’t despise you.

I despise myself. 

I despise the war.

But I cannot watch you die. In war or after.

I am a coward, but I know no other way.

When I whip the blindfold from my eyes and see you I am shocked. My words worked more than I’d intended. I pushed you away to save you. To spare you. But now…

My heart breaks. My face collapses. “Tristan,” I say before a cacophony of gunfire.

Falling.  
Drowning.  
Floating above you.  
Tristan.  
Love?  
For eternity.


End file.
